


A Book of Days

by spnredemption



Series: Redemption Road [35]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnredemption/pseuds/spnredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Is this the journal of a hunter? Am I a hunter now, or am I still an angel? I don't know…"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Book of Days

**Author's Note:**

> **Masterpost:** **[Supernatural: Redemption Road](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/1552.html)** (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)  
>  **Authors:** [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) , [](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**dotfic**](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/) , [](http://peroxidepest17.livejournal.com/profile)[**peroxidepest17**](http://peroxidepest17.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://squeemonster.livejournal.com/profile)[**squeemonster**](http://squeemonster.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** Dean/Castiel, Sam, OC and canon characters  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Word Count:** ~7,100  
>  **Warnings:** language, violence, sexuality  
>  **Beta:** [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) and [](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**dotfic**](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Note:** Part of our collection of **[DVD extras](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20dvd%20extras)** – outtakes, deleted scenes, missing scenes, and episode tags/codas that take place before, during, or following an aired episode. This coda refers to events that take place during the six-month timeline between our DVD Extras "Where the Drifts Get Deeper" and "Small Hours"  
>  **Art:** Chapter banner and journal art by [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) , which you can also find **[here](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/37579.html)** (art contains spoilers for the chapter); journal background by [Gorilla-Ink](http://gorilla-ink.deviantart.com/art/Old-Blank-Journal-173878172); illustrations by [](http://pro-kira.livejournal.com/profile)[**pro_kira**](http://pro-kira.livejournal.com/) (if you have a seizure disorder, please note that one of these illustrations is animated).

**January 6**

Dean gave me this journal.

It is the first gift I have ever been given.

It's not clear to me yet what the best use of this journal should be. It seems akin physically to the volume Dean and Sam treasure that was left behind by their father, or the journal Dean keeps himself. Sam seems to prefer his computer.

Is this the journal of a hunter?

Am I a hunter now, or am I still an angel?

I don't know.

Yesterday, while Dean and Bobby repaired Bobby's truck, Sam and I spent many hours translating an ancient text. It is invigorating to argue theories with him, and he doesn't seem to mind being in my company.

How, after what I did to him?

Sometime I would like to take him to see the library at Alexandria. I think he would like that.

And I would take Dean to see a chariot race.

 

**January 9**

How did this happen?

I woke with Dean next to me, and I watched him as he slept.

At the cabin in the woods, he told me I'm not alone in the darkness, and for the first time I don't feel lonely. And I want to tell him everything, _show_ him everything.

I want to whisper to him that I am for him, that I always have been and always will be. I want to tell him that I have longed for him since the second my Father lit the spark of my existence, and that I knew he was waiting for me though I did not know him and could not name him then. I have loved him since he was but a concept, as we fought our way through Hellfire to reach him. And when I shielded him within my grace and raised him from Perdition, my grace wept for love of him.

I never thought I would be loved by him. Is it possible that I am?

Perhaps it can save me.

 

  


**January 10**

I woke to the sound of shouts from outside this morning, and when I looked out of the window I saw the Christmas tree planted in the earth, with Sam and Dean beside it.

That made me happy. It is our tree.

Bobby says they are _idjits_ , and believes the tree will die. I hope it lives, since Dean has become quite attached to it.

Later today we are driving south, to Florida. Dean thinks the climate might help heal Sam's pneumonia. I wish I could heal Sam. He tells me he wishes to heal himself, but I fear he doesn't trust me. I understand why. But he is at peace, against all the odds and despite the harm I did him.

 

**January 16**

We drive endlessly and the motion of this steel home on wheels lulls me. There is something about this car. I recall that once I thought I saw grace gleaming at me from under her skin, and there are still times when I press my hand to her flank and feel – _something_. Something familiar and comforting; something that knows me. And when that happens, it sparks something in my memory that I can't quite remember. Perhaps it will come to me.

The nights are unseasonably warm even for this state. Sometimes we bed down on the grass off of the road, and I stare at the stars. I want to fall into the sky, but it hurts to fly. My wings ache much of the time. In Purgatory they pulled the feathers from me, and shattered the bones. It was no less than I deserved.

Dean spends much of the time here complaining about other drivers. Sam complains about Dean complaining.

I seem to be using this journal simply to record my thoughts and feelings, but Sam assures me that is permissible.

We are in the south, but I want to be north and I don't understand why.

 

**January 17**

I downloaded a pedometer app. According to the Surgeon General, we should be walking 10,000 steps per day and Dean and Sam are falling woefully short of this target. When I attempted to discuss this with Dean, he informed me that if I wanted to walk back to Sioux Falls from Miami I was at liberty to do so, but that he would rather not join me in the endeavor. (That is the polite version of what he said.)

Dean needs to familiarize himself with driving etiquette. He persists in driving too close to the vehicle in front. This morning I pointed out to him that the car ahead of us had a sign in its rear window instructing him that if he could "read this" he was "too close, asshole" and needed to "back the fuck off." I have never seen him achieve that precise shade of scarlet before, but when I asked him if this meant he was one of the "rednecks" he has described as populating this state, he was unhappy at the suggestion.

Note to self: stop being "prim" and "get the stick out of my ass."

 

**January 18**

We are heading back to the north, to New Jersey. More people are disappearing. Dean asked if it is the angels' doing, but I don't think so.

I heard Sam cry out in the night. It is my fault.

γνῶθι σεαυτόν… _know thyself_. I saw a stonemason inscribe this over the entrance to the temple of Apollo at Delphi.

I know what I am.

I wonder what Dean really sees when he looks at me? Sometimes I don't understand what is in his eyes. Sometimes it seems unbelievable to me.

 

**January 20**

The people here are empty and this town is a dead town, but something is being created here. I don't understand it, for there can be no creation without my Father, and I know He is gone. But – there can be evolution. Is this evolution?

The shadows here follow us wherever we go.

The water is endless. The beach is flat and gray, like the sky. It is absorbing. I find I can think of nothing else and gaze at nothing else. If I walked on the sand, I would walk on it forever, I think. And I would be content and at peace.

The rain is like a metronome, and hypnotic.

Note to self: google "slaughtered lamb." Every time we enter one of the businesses in this town, everybody falls silent and stares. Dean told me it's just like walking into "the slaughtered lamb," but when I told him I didn't understand that reference, he rolled his eyes. Sam mentioned something about an American werewolf that seemed to have chosen the city of London as its killing fields. I suspect his medication may be interfering with his cognitive abilities, as this sounded like feverish rambling (even if he appeared lucid at the time).

 

**January 22**

I did not expect to encounter Kali here.

In her eyes I saw hurt, regret, anger. I saw her weariness, her loneliness, her grief for my brother. I saw myself.

The water here – it is the future. I don't know how or why but it is the _future_. Something trapped in the water wants to be free, and it is coming for me, for _us_. On the boat it spoke to me, words I don't understand and never want to understand. It is corrupt and it repelled me, but I wanted to go to it. I hated it, and yet I longed for it.

The only respite was the path leading into the flames of Hell, or was that the future too? Will-o'-the-wisps were paths to the darkest places, but roads go both ways. What does it mean?

What is trying to push through into this world? I closed the path, but Kali said there are thousands of paths.

Pangs of cruel memory… _omens_ , these are _omens_.

What have I done? I'm afraid of what I have done.

 

**January 24**

Today is Dean's birthday. I believe it is customary to celebrate such anniversaries, but when I called Bobby to ask him how best to commemorate the occasion, he said Dean and Sam don't do birthdays and I shouldn't refer to it.

I didn't speak of it to Dean, but I kissed every part of him. The expanse of his back is smooth, and I find mouthing the notches of his vertebrae most pleasant. The muscles of his thighs are hard, yet the skin of his inner thighs is soft under my lips, and the crease at his groin is ticklish. His hands are strong and capable as they guide me, and the sounds he makes are very motivating.

I informed him that his body is my shrine and that I enjoy worshiping it. He was most pleased to hear this, and when he is pleased he is particularly affectionate.

Note to self: please Dean more often.

 

**January 30**

Dean woke in a terror last night, with Alastair's name on his lips. I fear the glimpse of Hell he saw in New Jersey has awakened old ghosts. We comfort each other through the nightmares.

I wish Sam had someone who could be there in the dark for him. When I asked, he told me he is meditating, and that it helps him. He calls it _kel-no-reem_ , but I have never heard of that term. I reminded him that I sleep with my smartphone under my pillow set to vibrate in case he feels a game of Words with Friends might distract him when he wakes from a bad dream.

Dean finds the word "vibrate" amusing, though I'm not sure why.

 

  


**February 4**

Ao Guang was imparting _information_ , of that I am certain. The task he set us – it meant something. I don't know what, but we are supposed to learn from it; learn from everything he shared with us.

 

**February 6**

Dean is insufferable. He has tried my patience for the last time. How much more must I tolerate?

I love him.

 _I love him_.

 

  


**February 9**

Last night I dreamed of Ao Guang drowning in his palace under the sea. Dean says I woke up screaming.

I sleep better with Dean there, with the beat of his heart against my back and his breath on my neck, and with his hand pressed to the scar on my chest. I still don't understand how we came to be like this, but it is everything to me…the sun, the moon, the stars, the breath of life. He is my north, my _everything_.

I'm not used to sleeping and dreaming, but some of the dreams are rather pleasant. I especially enjoy the one involving Dean unclothed and a grassy field. Perhaps I shouldn't record the remainder of that here.

 

**February 12**

Dean tells me that headless horsemen make him "horny."

His kisses are sweeter than wine.

Sam says Meg spoke of signs, of something big coming. It confirms our fears while confirming nothing at all. Her presence bothers all of us. She is an opportunist and not to be underestimated.

Something is there in the darkness…the _dreamer_. But what is it?

 

**February 14**

According to Dean, today is "Unattached Drifter Christmas." I haven't heard of this festival, but I do know that it is St Valentine's Day and it reminds me of our encounter with Cupid. The memory troubles me. Is what I feel for Dean free will, or is it fate? I neither know nor care. I only want, and need.

I kiss my love into Dean's mouth in the dark, and I trace my commitment to him on his skin with my fingertips. Does he understand what I am saying to him, even if I do not speak the words? Perhaps one day I shall summon the courage to tell him.

 

**February 17**

Dean dreamed of Alastair again last night. I wish I were still powerful enough to take the horror from him.

He thinks there is a pattern to the disappearances we have noticed. I am still concerned that they are somehow linked to what I did. (I don't want to think of it.)

Today we spoke to a woman called Julie Ames. Her husband is among the missing, and she has amassed much documentary evidence of the vanishings. She made me think of Amelia Novak. I could see the loss in her eyes and it was disconcerting. I thought of her, of _Amelia_ , and I wanted to run from the memory of one more life I have destroyed.

 

**February 22**

We're not much closer to discovering the meaning of the strange occurrences, or my dreams.

Last night I saw Balthazar again. It was much the same as the previous time he came to me. He should be angry with me, but he isn't…he pities me. He told me again that the dreamer is no longer sleeping; that the one who began it is the one who must end it. He told me I know what it means, but I have searched my memory and can find no clues.

The shadows were there in the dreamlands, the same shadows that were in New Jersey, perhaps.

Dean pressed kisses to the back of my neck and told me I mean more to him than he knows how to say, and that we will do this together.

Dean is everything to me and I fear losing him. What if that is my penance? These fire-vampires we are hunting, they hurt him. They burned him…their heat sent him back to Hell, and I could do nothing. I felt terrified and useless. He is mine and I try so hard to hold onto him, but Hell lingers and there is danger everywhere.

If I lose him, I will lose myself.

  


**March 1**

Angry Birds is consuming me. Humans are indeed ingenious to have devised such an effective method of mental torture. Sam suggested that Plants versus Zombies might be less stressful, but I am determined to defeat the pigs, and helmets be damned.

 

**March 3**

We have been in Gloucester, Massachusetts, doing battle with a mysterious beast that turned out to be a troll.

Considering the depth of my knowledge and the fact that I have seen such monsters grow from their primordial form, one would think Dean might listen to me when I tell him the skin of these repellent creatures is extremely dense and can't be breached with an ordinary blade. However, he disregarded my counsel and it overwhelmed us despite the fact that trolls are known to be a rather dull-witted species.

It seemed to have little use for me once it threw me aside, and instead kept screeching that it wanted nothing but "the boys, just the boys." I was able to take it by surprise, and took great pleasure in beating its small brain to a pulp.

Dean complains that his bandages itch, but won't permit me to use my _mojo_ , as he calls it, to heal him faster. He says this would render me a _deus ex machina_. He is very annoying.

Sam is very irritated with him, as am I.

 

**March 5**

Being near the sea has made me feel anxious again, and I had another bad dream last night. Perhaps writing it down would help me unravel what it means, yet it is difficult to put into words. The images are nebulous but I can hear the whispering of the souls from far off, as if they wish for my attention and want me to return.

The dreamer is no longer sleeping, they tell me. Sam says it sounds familiar somehow, but he can't place it.

And _water_. The dreams always have water.

 

**March 7**

Once I blazed a trail across the sky and I touched the stars. And now I am this, growing weaker with each day that passes. If I have cause to use my grace, the effort exhausts me. What am I becoming? I am hungry and tired, and _limited_. Sometimes this world and this life feel like a trap, and I think that if I could, I would chew off my limb to escape its snare.

Dean's soul is like a light in his eyes, but my own light is dying so that soon I won't see his any more.

I wake and Dean is watching me, and sometimes I keep my eyes closed so I can feel his gaze. When I open them, he smiles as if he is glad to see me. And so, some things are worth the fall.

 

**March 10**

We are in Augusta, dealing with an angry spirit.

Dean is teaching me to drive.

I drove five whole miles without steering into a ditch, and we watched a movie called The Wrath of Khan to celebrate this achievement. Sam said Spock and Kirk (who bears an uncanny resemblance to a photograph of somebody named _Shatner_ that I once inadvertently damaged and was unable to repair, but that is another story) remind him of me and Dean.

Spock and Kirk must have cared very deeply for each other.

 

**March 11**

Dean disapproves of my new ringtone. I explained that the song has meaning for me, but he still seems unimpressed with my choice.

Sam suggested that increasing the volume would help inure Dean to the sound, and he showed me how to do this.

I don't think his strategy is having the intended effect.

 

**March 13**

Dean is frequently exasperating, but it is exceedingly difficult to stay irritated at him when he does certain things each time we're alone.

He seems excessively fond of my hips for some reason. I don't see what's remarkable about them – they're flesh and bone, like the rest of this body that houses what is left of my grace.

It is also exceedingly difficult to think clearly when Dean performs "hip worship," as he calls it.

My jeans are an old pair of Dean's and are sufficiently loose that I think I may wear them a little lower on my hips from now on.

I am not showing him this entry. I may tear the page out.

 

**March 14**

A woman at a bar flirted with Dean tonight, and I immediately imagined her head exploding. I fear I am becoming petty.

 

**March 15**

Dean asked me what had my "panties in a twist" this morning. I replied that I did not enjoy watching him flirt with random women at bars. He asked me what I was talking about. We might have fought about it, because I was determined to until I realized he didn't actually know what I was talking about. When I described the woman in question, he was very confused. Then I realized he didn't even notice her, and I was perfectly happy again. I am indeed petty.

Note to self: I don't wear "panties."

 

**March 19**

I am in Rhode Island with Bobby, investigating a vanishing. It is the first time I have been apart from Dean since he found me in Purgatory, and it is exceedingly difficult.

Aristotle would have it that love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies. I have no soul, and I have come to realize that this is for a reason and the reason is that Dean's soul is my soul.

I miss him.

I miss him as the night misses the sun, and the day misses the moon; I miss him as the shoreline misses the tide and the desert misses the rain.

 

**March 21**

The things in Rhode Island bewitched me. I don't quite know how. I don't even recall it happening.

 

**March 27**

I did not expect to feel this way.

Claire Novak and her mother have awakened echoes of my vessel that I thought were gone, for I am not that vessel any more. The man I wore is destroyed, and more than once now. This form I take is wholly me now, and yet…has James Novak left an imprint of himself on me? Is his blood, his flesh, his bone, mine; and are mine his? Are his cells and molecules mine, and mine his?

Claire…I wore her once, and she remembers.

She has his eyes, _my_ eyes. She looks like him, like _me_. This body's DNA, _my_ DNA is her DNA. Is she mine?

I feel regret for the lives I have destroyed. During the Persian Wars, I passed the time of day with Sophocles, who told me there is no witness so terrible and no accuser so powerful as the conscience that dwells within us.

Claire was right. My penance is to live with what I have done.

 

**March 29**

When Bobby asked what my plans were, I told him I would let Dean go, and I spoke the truth. I would…I want him to be happy. But can it really be true that Dean has chosen me? That he can't do this without me? That it really is _simple_?

I hold a remnant of his soul inside me, for I could not bear to let go of it. Touching its light again down in that other world, as I did in the Pit, was like solace and sustenance.

Bobby told me I have a home with him, and he spoke of his son that never was. They are all my family, and how I have found them is incomprehensible to me. How they can have forgiven me is incomprehensible to me.

I have a family. A family. I am part of a family and I think they care for me.

We continue to puzzle over Crowley's plans. Dean hasn't yet remembered where he saw the sigil Claire drew, but I know he will.

  


**April 1**

I speak more than six thousand, four hundred and fifty languages. Claire Novak's is not one of them.

ALWP = actual laughter was produced.

:-* = Dean says this means kiss.

Claire insists that _intensing_ is a real word, but I think she is mistaken.

Claire also is continually defeating me at Draw Something. I find the screen of my smartphone to be an inadequate canvas on which to depict any of these prompts in particular detail. Also, I do not know what a "katniss" is, or how to draw it, which precludes me from getting the most points.

 

**April 2**

Sam has explained what a "katniss" is to me. I still do not know how to draw one with my finger.

 

**April 3**

More disappearances detailed in the news media, and we continue to puzzle over what is "going down," and how the oceans are involved.

Today I renewed my acquaintance with Edward Zeddmore. I hope never to do so again. That said, his _Shatner_ (who bears a striking resemblance to Admiral James T. Kirk) is made whole again, so I have one less thing to be guilty about.

Dean tells me he intends procuring a Starfleet uniform from somewhere called "ebay."

Note to self: google David Hasselhoff.

 

**April 5**

I suspect that I have been on a date with Dean. He purchased a drink for me that glowed in the dark, and we danced while engaged in surveillance. After it transpired that Sam had dealt with our quarry, we repaired to an establishment called an IHOP, where Dean procured pancakes and coffee for me.

Back at the motel our lovemaking was somewhat slow and drowsy, and petered out without the usual climax, but even so it was deeply satisfying to simply be kissed and stroked, and to kiss and stroke in return. To be so treasured…as Dean says, this will "never get old."

At times like this it is possible to forget everything but what I hold in my arms.

 

**April 7**

Last night I dreamed of that place Claire and I tumbled into, that other world and its distant beach. I dreamed of the ocean, of flat, gray water that lured me closer until a hand erupted through the surface to grasp me. Its fingers were dread-cold and slippery. I dreamed of eyes that were empty, and I could taste salt on the air of that place. It was dark there, and the darkness wrapped around me like a shroud. The mist coming off the water engulfed me.

It was horror, ancient and unknowable.

Dean found me in the motel bathroom chanting words. What words? I don't know, and he says they were unclear. He wants Missouri to try to reach what is hidden in my mind, but I will not risk her safety in this way. It makes me think of Pamela Barnes and how my grace destroyed her sight when she tried to bind it.

I told Dean that bad dreams are nothing to fear, but I think he could see in my eyes that I do fear them. They are a message, I am certain of it. I don't want to think about what the message might be. I want peace, I want to be happy even if I don't deserve to be, even if I am fallen and damned. But I fear this is part of my punishment, and if that is the case, then so be it.

Μία λέξη μας απελευθερώνει από το βάρος και την οδύνη της ζωής – αυτή η λέξη είναι η αγάπη…

I tell Dean I love him in all the languages I know. Perhaps I don't need him to tell me.

 

**April 11**

We are in Florida again. The news media is reporting odd cult activities, and strange weather anomalies. We are staying in a house Dean and Sam lived in during their childhood. Its ambience and tranquility seem to comfort them.

 

**April 12**

We met with a friend of Dean and Sam's, Tamara, and her hunting partner, Mira Kovic. Mira Kovic seems taken with Sam, and he with her. He seems lonely and I feel it would please Dean greatly if Sam found someone he could be with and know peace with, in the way that Dean and I know it.

I heard Dean and Sam speaking of their fears that the disappearances may be linked to what I did while I was ensouled by the Purgatory monsters, that the mutant creatures we track may have been spawned in the floods and bodies of water where I performed my miracles.

People are saying it is the end of the world.

There is a girl here in La Grange – Tara. She survived something terrifying, but there is a void in her mind. I think perhaps it is the same void that exists in mine.

 

**April 14**

The words I spoke before were the same as the words we heard the cultists chanting in La Grange.

Something is reaching out to me in my dreams. I have suspected it for some time.

Darkness comes.

I have often thought love unconquerable, but Dean told me that sometimes love isn't enough to save us. So perhaps I won't be saved after all.

 

**April 18**

To see Dean so terrified in the dreamlands, to see him look at me with no recognition or care in his eyes…it is as if my own nightmares had come true. And Alastair…I feared my own terror would incapacitate me. Alastair can hurt me in this dream that is Dean's…is this Dean's own subconscious anger at me for what I did?

I only want to keep Dean safe…it is what I was created for. But I don't know if I can save him.

Sam is sleeping; I will not wake him before I go back there – if I can. He would like to enter the dreamlands with me to help bring Dean back, but I am not strong enough to take him. If we had dream root it might be possible, but Sam's psyche is fragile. It is bad enough that Dean is trapped there without his brother falling victim to his own suffering.

I am afraid; afraid I cannot reach Dean.

Father, please hear me if you are there.

 

**April 20**

Dean gave me his heart. Does he remember?

 

**April 26**

We have returned to Bobby's so that Dean can recover his equilibrium after the dreamlands.

Yesterday I met Marcy Ward. She is a remarkable woman.

She has emailed me the following guidance on how best to bake a pie that will meet Dean's exacting standards without her being here to supervise my progress.

• Flaky crust:  
1¼ cups all-purpose flour  
¼ tsp (this means teaspoon) salt  
½ cup butter, chilled and diced  
¼ cup ice water

Combine flour and salt. Cut in butter until coarse crumbs. Stir in water one tbsp (this means tablespoon) at a time until it forms a ball. Knead dough, divide and wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least four hours.

• Doughy crust:  
2½ cups white flour  
2 tbsp sugar  
¼ tsp salt  
½ cup cold butter, broken into small pieces  
5 tbsp cold vegetable shortening  
8 tbsp ice water

Stir flour sugar and salt together. Cut in butter and shortening, but don't over-mix. Add ice water, mixing just until dough holds together. Knead dough, divide and wrap in plastic and chill for at least an hour.

Note to self: Apple pie reminds Dean of his mother.

Note to self: Marcy suggested adding raisins to a pie at some point to "keep us regular." I confess to being unsure what that means, but will try it.

 

**April 30**

The contented look Dean gets on his face when he eats pie makes me want to bake him one every day for the rest of our lives. I must remind myself of this whenever I feel especially frustrated with him, and when I regret falling.

Note to self: Dean says raisins remind him of "rat poop" and requested that I never again broach the subject of his bowel movements.

  


**May 3**

This "downtime" at Bobby's is most restful, even if my sense of foreboding still remains.

Today he and I stopped at a place called Sally's Diner for lunch. The owner was not in fact named Sally, which leads me to believe that Charlie Grossman's bar is the only establishment I know of wherein the owner and the title match. (Oh, and that restaurant chain owned by a clown.)

We also found a recipe for baked zucchini on the Food Network website that was easy enough for us to try and that we had most of the major ingredients for. Incidentally, I am very much enamored of the Food Network website. It is fascinating to see how humans can use the same basic food products to concoct an endless array of different dishes. The sheer variety is incredibly interesting and somewhat intimidating all at once.

Dean did not like the baked zucchini; however, Bobby called Dean a string of colorful names and somehow managed to make him eat his vegetables regardless. It was a very effective method. Perhaps I will try it on the road.

 

**May 4**

I like fried zucchini too, and Dean seems to find it acceptable. Sam is not impressed by our compromise.

I feel happy, and this in itself makes me anxious.

 

**May 6**

Sam has banned me from using his computer to bookmark recipes on the Food Network website anymore because I was saving too many. Sam did not complain about the baked zucchini however. In fact, he ate more of it than anyone else. Sometimes Sam confuses me more than Dean does.

I find I like Alton Brown very much.

Marcy Ward has invited me to take part in a town baking contest in the fall, when apples are in season. I would have to create my own recipe for the competition. Perhaps if we survive what is to come in the following months, I will consider it.

Peaches at the Food 4 Less were 2lbs to the dollar today. I will make peach pie tomorrow. Bobby also bought a butternut squash, and said I would like it.

I am very pleased with today.

 

**May 7**

Dean declared everlasting love for my peach pie today. He has not uttered the same words of devotion to me, but perhaps if I continue to make satisfactory baked goods it will be sufficient incentive for him to do so. I know it was meant to be complimentary, but his words only saddened me. (In addition to being petty, I fear I am becoming maudlin as well.)

I returned to the kitchen to clean up after that, and Bobby joined me shortly thereafter. He said he'd found a relatively easy butternut squash risotto recipe that we would make for dinner. I observed that Dean would likely require something with meat, at which point Bobby said that if Dean was so keen on dead animal every night he could get his own damned dinner ready.

I am not sure why, but cooking with Bobby lifts my spirits considerably.

Note to self: peach pie makes Dean very amorous.

 

**May 8**

Dean was hustling pool earlier tonight. I would have offered to help, but I enjoyed watching his rear end too much.

 

  


**May 9**

I find it intriguing that sense of smell is so evocative, significantly more so than any other sense, it seems. With one whiff of baking cherry pie I'm instantly immersed in the first time I prepared pie for Dean, and the happiness I felt when I saw what comfort it gave him. The way to a man's heart may be through his stomach, but the way to a man's past and his very essence is through his nose.

I would like to stay here at Bobby's, where I can at least fool myself that all is well and that we can live our lives together as a family.

But I know this time is ending.

Note to self: If Dean is mad at me, I must bake him cherry pie. If he is really angry, I must serve it with vanilla ice cream. If he's so angry he won't look at me, I must serve it with ice cream while performing fellatio. He promised me yesterday that would work no matter what, but I have yet to test it.

 

**May 12**

It works.

ALWP.

 

**May 15**

Adam Milligan was the most innocent of us, and I left him behind. I will never forgive myself, even if I had little choice. I would gladly have given myself up in order to secure his salvation, even if the thought of losing what I have with Dean is _torment_.

I am relieved to have helped Adam's soul pass to a place of peace, and to have alleviated the guilt which has troubled both Dean and Sam. It sapped my grace severely, however, and I fear my power will never recover to even that limited degree I still possessed before this.

This encounter with Crowley and Meg has disturbed our relative peace. We know now what we face, and again I am greatly troubled by my possible part in all of this. But…Crowley is gone at least. It is odd to know that my nemesis no longer exists.

 

**May 18**

We are researching all we can about the danger we face now we know who the "dreamer" is. There is little in the texts to help us, and the body count is growing.

This is my fault; I know it is. I don't know how but I know. The answers are in my dreams, I am certain of that, but I still can't recall them in any detail.

 

**May 30**

Today Dean and I stood in a small town in West Virginia in which everyone was dead, and where the chill was that of the deepest winter even though it is summer.

I wonder if my brothers might help us…I have even suggested that we deal with Meg despite the risks that would involve, but Dean will not hear of it. Kali has refused our summons several times.

We are all on edge and short-tempered. I curl myself around Dean in the dark and try to forget what is out there. The only time I feel safe and warm is when I am next to Dean in our bed, with my hand pressed to the brand I placed on his shoulder. He is mine, but I wonder how much longer I will be his?

Sometimes I think he fears what we are to each other.

 

**June 7**

We spent several days at Eleanor Vizyak's home, looking through her library. Her texts and books were helpful up to a point.

I should die for what I have done. Even if I saw her as one of Purgatory's fiends, she had not harmed a living soul since the night she emerged through the portal Lovecraft opened.

I could not bring myself to look Bobby in the eye.

We have relocated now, to the state of Iowa, to a farm belonging to a friend of Bobby's. There are other hunters here, one of whom bothers both Dean and Sam. I keep myself to myself. I'm afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. I feel like a stranger in a strange land outside of my family and the few others I know and trust.

Dean seems troubled by our closeness, and requested a room of his own during our stay. I could not sleep without him next to me, and I feel weary and unrested. I worry that my sins are finally causing him to doubt me and reconsider what we have. The possibility is so hard to bear that I cannot bear it.

The orchard is littered with apples and I had thought to bake a pie for Dean, but I'm not sure if he would like this.

 

**June 9**

Mira Kovic arrived today, bringing news of odd, supernatural occurrences.

Dean…Dean, _Dean_. He has missed me, and he is still all I want and need.

 

**June 15**

In New Jersey, Kali confirmed what we face. As the prophecy foretold, _in his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming…yet He shall rise and His kingdom shall cover the Earth_.

I still don't understand my part in this, but she told me that I will. I fear the knowledge.

She told me that my brother Gabriel said that angels bring suffering to the ones that love them, and that he was talking about me when he said it.

 

**June 19**

Missouri seems to enjoy having us here, even though she complains about dirt tracked on her carpets and towels on the floor in the bathrooms. Last night I performed a ritual on an old text to make it reveal images to us with more clarity, to help solve the puzzle of what is going on. It caused an odd smell in Missouri's kitchen, and she glared at me all through lunch.

Sam kept making jokes about the odor, laughing and pretending he wasn't, so Dean kicked him under the table. I could tell by the way Sam jumped and then glared at Dean. Sam's jokes made me weirdly happy. Missouri was less pleased.

Still, I think she is glad we're here.

 

**June 20**

Note to self: no aluminum foil in the microwave _ever_.

This, so soon after the incident with the odor after my ritual.

Missouri will hopefully forgive me.

  


**June 21**

After so much destruction, it's satisfying to put these hands in soft soil, to plant seeds and touch leaves as I help Missouri with her garden. I can use a trowel as well as a crossbow.

I am more than just a soldier. I can help to bring life, and perhaps it will balance out what I've destroyed.

Even though I didn't bring up the subject, this morning Missouri paused in her gardening and told me I was more than what I think I am. I have no idea what she meant. Yet at times I want to say this to Dean. It's hard to find the words, though, to describe to him how I see him. So I don't.

There are many other things I need to say and can't. It's easier to garden than to think.

Dean found me today while I was in the garden by myself. He didn't seem to have any specific reason to be there, but when I asked him to hand me a packet of seeds, he did, and then helped me work, both of us kneeling in the dirt. The sun burned Dean's skin, since he stubbornly forgets to wear sunblock.

Our fingers met in the soil. Somehow it felt as good as a kiss.

 

**June 22**

Missouri expressed her pleasure that Dean is "settling down" with me, but I don't know what to make of her theory. Is he? I told her I don't think about it. I try my best not to assume that this is what Dean would ever want, even if the notion engenders a joy that I cannot adequately describe. That he is with me now is enough.

Missouri cannot see past the darkness that obscures my memories.

Will we even live through this? I feel as if it is all starting to slip through my fingers.

I lose myself in Dean, and I feel that no one can take me from him or he from I. But I feel as if we are lost to each other already.

 

  


**June 23**

Something happened to me, a fugue state not unlike the one I endured in Florida. The dark – it wants me, and a part of me wants to run into the darkness.

I am determined to do what I have to in order to protect this world and protect my family.

 

**June 30**

We are in Brazil, conversing with Jonas Harper, a man of faith and an interesting conversationalist.

I am losing Dean more and more with each passing day, and this distance between us frightens me. I don't know what to do. I want him to be happy and I will let him go if this is what he wishes, but the thought makes me feel ill and distracted.

Perhaps if we win this battle, Jonas Harper may have use for me here at the hostel he runs, since I know I could not be with Dean and not _be_ with him without it causing me pain and heartache I could not withstand.

 

  


  



End file.
